When Sam, aged 12, died on Friday night I really didn't think this blog would be an appropriate forum to discuss it in. Well at first I didn't so much think at all, it was mostly an emotion of deep sadness. As the waves of grief wash over a person the internal processing is also tidal, and when I did get round to reasoning about it, particularly in the context of my world view, I didn't know how I could possibly reconcile my (still existing) hope and love of life with public expression or enthusiasm. There is distaste and then there is betrayal of dear friends in their terrible loss.
I made two mistakes. The first was an air of flippancy about joy as I blogged before. The second was to think that I must not be joyful now.
On Friday morning I felt like I wanted wanted to write a clarifier in response to my
enthusiasm about dancing (link). Since Friday night I have had the fuel for this clarifier but it literally grieves me as to what it took to help me understand.
I find a useful model for experiencing the ups and downs of life in both the Bible and ancient philosophy.
1 Corinthians 4 (link) talks about a church that grieves together and rejoices together whilst
Plato (link) too describes this when outlining a "city with the best constitution". We need to be respectful of one another when we see what we are going through but, more than that, community is about truly sharing in each others's lives. This morning at church we grieved corporately. I saw mourning parents, spoke with them, hugged them, cried a little too. It was really real and it was terribly sad and there are no answers.
And I don't think we are supposed to have them. We believe in a God that raises people from the dead but we live in a world where people do die and stay dead. The knowledge that Sam knew Jesus is a huge comfort to those of us who believe that means he is is heaven, but it doesn't stop the tragedy of a young life coming to an end; and expecting good things to be brought from this does not justify the loss. I think perhaps there are sometimes more questions as a Christian than not, because we believe that God knows what will happen and has power over everything. The need to let go and remember our humanity is difficult in the promise that we have the authority of Christ living in us.
So there is Both denial And acceptance of this death. And this is the first of many BOTH/ANDs. God is good... and bad things happen. We are free and empowered to live life in fullness... and life gets taken away. We should be glad for what is out there... and there are nasty things out there trying to get in. Continuing to believe in the best things... and seeing the worst happen. Knowing that Jesus said fullness of life is right here right now if we choose to live in it... but also knowing that He said He's going to one day come back and bring it with Him.
That last one in particular... it fits with my adamancy of late that we have the complete potential to be totally whole and free and living life in all it's fullness, yet with this happening as a sudden stark reminder of the final chapter to come in the story. It is NOW and NOT YET. How can this even be the case?
But it is the case. And as we mourn and are genuinely sad I have also had tons of laughter in the past 24 hours. I was at times so hopeful for what will come from this that I felt guilty... until I randomly met with my pastor in the street at just the right time, had some great sound advice from friends, re-remembered how to cry, then heard a sermon that reminded me I am only finite in my capacity to feel and that people can be both JOYFUL and GRIEVING simultaneously. I saw smiles and laughter at church, even through the tears of his parents. It was only a moment but everywhere and in every way we and life are both/and. [I highly recommend the sermon actually and will put a link up just as soon as it is online. It isn't overt-God, just really helpful ideas about expressing the truth that joy and hope and love is not wrong in the face of this, but that the pain is still real.]
Studying maths I have learned that many things are beyond understanding. If backed into a corner, even the most brilliant of theorists will have to admit that the very foundations of maths are unproven, circular and paradoxical. That is a nightmare and because of it we mathematicians live behind a veil of ignorance (wow I would not be popular in my department if they knew I said that!). The same impossibility applies here. Stuff happens that the actual processes of logic we use to function can't grasp. Life (and counting) does seem to work and go on but the why is totally incomprehensible and that is the point of trust.
One of the problems with the maths is the realm of the infinite. Things just change when we deal with numbers that aren't tangible. There is no more "logic". Sam's death is simply wrong on our finite human scale. When we factor in eternity it doesn't stop our human reasoning from being in pain because we are still human, but it does mean that somehow something is different... even if we are unable to fully grasp it. His six year old brother serenely drew a picture of him going off in a balloon from the rest of the family to a happy place. Kids that age don't have a grasp of the impact of "forever" apparently. I think maybe we are ones the that don't have the grasp. Who knows, perhaps that is the childlike faith we are told to believe in.
It was a steal, not a plan. But in the long, actual long, run, in a way we don't yet get, it is still fullness of life. Not the kind of
death (link) that I wrote of before, so we don't
mourn like those without hope (link). But we do mourn for now. Yet not too.
To carry on we must remember it is both/and. The sadness of death is true but so is the joy of life and, since the size (or cardinality for a mathematician) of the life far exceeds the size of the death, the net result is still good. In theory at least.
The wedding celebrated in our church on Saturday reminds us of this joy. A wedding, like the one Jesus gives (as mentioned a
couple of posts ago (link)) as an analogy for the union of us with Him when He returns for good. The picture of perfect love, intimacy and joyful celebration for ever. We are still to hope for that and remember that it is coming in entirety one day...
Another thing we did yesterday was take part in a social action project, blessing the very community (I actually drove past the spot) in which the hit and run took place. Sharing love potentially, and definitely symbolically, with the drunk driver responsible. I was group leading with some children that day who are Sam's age and younger. They can't help but be joyful it seems. As we were driving along they started shouting excitedly out the window and, after a conversation about sensitivity to different people's beliefs, the little girl next to me began calling:
"Welcome to the future!"
When we got to lunch, for some unknown (possibly unknowable?!) reason there was a camp man playing a white custom-made fancy electric organ (with "Byron Jones The Welsh Wizard" written on the front) there, practising for a hymn concert that evening. Amidst the tunes he suddenly blasted out "Dancing Queen" and we all had a sing-a-long.
It IS the future, it IS dancing... and it is still a little bit now and sometimes crap with a capital 'C' too.
Fullness of life isn't always about merriment. My enthusiasm before was concerned with counteracting apathy and cynicism, not about grief in the things that genuinely demonstrate a lack of life. Yet the constant, all-pervading, joy is still a valid notion when considered in relation to the future hope; it just doesn't always look like dancing. (Though it still can do too.) Bitter-sweet.
The Bible says that the Kingdom of God (Christian lingo for total fullness of life (a necessary tautology I now realise)) belongs to those such as the children. It also says that death has lost its sting. We do still feel the bitter puncture wound right here right now but in heaven today, and forever more, Sam is dancing (well most probably playing football actually)... and he is gonna get better and better at it for ever and ever. That is just sweet.
